Miss Miller

Daisy Miller

Daisy Miller by Henry James left me with conflicting feelings. On the one hand, I was disgusted by Daisy and her arrogant, excruciatingly immature attitude. On the other hand, I simply felt sorry for her. 

Daisy was, in some aspects, a prime example of what is wrong with the American tourist: we can be rude, obnoxious, and insufferably maladjusted to the country or the culture upon which we have thrust ourselves. We demand that things be done in our way, on our time, and we often find fault with peoples or places that fail to live up to our fantasies and expectations. In a nutshell, we go abroad in search of something new and different, and either cannot learn or refuse to learn how to cope with that new and different thing once we have found it. While not all American tourists fit this description, this seems to be the sort of reputation we have acquired abroad.

I can understand Daisy’s wish to throw off the bindings of society, to act according to her own rules, her own desires, et cetera. It is quite possible to admire her for her audacity, and for her unwillingness to confine her seemingly unconquerable spirit to what other’s deem is socially safe and sound.  However, I believe there is a certain necessity to check oneself when going abroad, at least to the point of being respectful. Through her thoughtless words and actions, Daisy becomes something of an imposition to the Italians and a distasteful embarrassment to the ex-patriots, who attempt to assure the Romans that not all American girls are like her. 

However, for all her wild-child ways, Daisy seemed to contain certain traces of uncertainty. There were a few moments when a more intimate light seemed to be cast over Daisy, usually in conversation with Winterbourne. She would suddenly seem doubtful, as if she feared Winterbourne had gotten the wrong impression, such as when Winterbourne hinted at the possibility of a love between Daisy and Giovanelli, or she would pale or act embarrassed or upset, like when Mrs. Walker unapologetically snubbed her. These moments were so fleeting that they almost went unnoticed. They hinted at a softer, more thoughtful Daisy, one who put on airs of arrogance in hopes of appearing more mature or clever or desirable, but who was actually just a young girl, trying her hand at a game she proved to be all too good at. She may have been disrespectful, stupid, or any number of unsavory things, but she was still a young girl who did not yet deserve her fate.